“She saved you from the mines. We’re together because of her,” snapped Ames.
Devon’s mood soured. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to take everything out on her, but her words, “lowly as a slave” flared his temper.
“I’ve worked at the big house and Cookie is as kind and gentle as they come. She fed me when she knew no one was about. You should aid her.” Bloodsmythe crossed his arms.
“I don’t need a blunderer like you to handle my quarrels.” Devon scowled.
Wolf looked him in the eye. “I don’t know nothing about your past laddie, but ye have the bleat of a ram what’s trying to play tiger. Maybe you’re used to hunting alone, but now you’re just one more lamb in the flock and what hurts one, hurts us all.”
Ames pointed a finger at Devon. “Get over your hard feelings toward the girl. Use it as an opportunity to scout the island, perhaps find some way to escape. You’re a fool not to try.”
Devon heard enough. “Your opinions come yapping and growling round me like a pack of curs.” Yet…there was truth in what they said, points he’d not considered. He threw down his shovel and stalked toward the guards.
Claire stood and wiped her hands before answering the door. All day she had been applying fresh cloths to cool Cookie’s fever. Deciding it best to take shifts, she had sent Lily to bed. Listening to Cookie’s moans unnerved her. To feel this helpless, was a foreign concept for her to grasp. In London, she could have called on a whole host of practitioners. Claire despaired. She had failed when Cookie needed her most.
When they were younger, it had always been Cookie who had cared for them. When she and Lily had fallen ill with smallpox, she remembered Cookie’s loving hands, tendering their care. She owed a great debt to this woman who had nurtured her for so many years. Claire adjusted the sheet over Cookie, terrified she would lose her.
Claire played over in her head the altercation with the slave. Her fury increased with every thought of him. Earlier she swore she would never speak to that impudent and ungrateful wretch for as long as she lived. But Cookie’s illness had worsened. Her pride paled in significance to Cookie’s needs. If she had to put up with that arrogant man, she’d suffer it. She would order the physician brought to her, and in chains if necessary.
Yet when she answered the door, there stood the aim of her contempt. “I can’t believe my eyes. There must be some mistake. How is it the great physician has condescended to come to my assistance?”
“Not to your assistance, although you look a little flushed, but I owed it to your overwhelming enthusiasm of seeing me.” He dared to smile.
Claire considered slamming the door in his face. “Do come in.” She gritted her teeth and waved to the guard. “You may return to the fields. I will handle things from here.” She stared in emphasis when the wide-eyed guard attempted to protest.
The physician crushed his straw hat over his heart. “Perhaps I owe you an apology,” he said, the words a mere whisper, as if sour on his tongue.
“More than one, but who’s counting?
“Very well, accept my apology in triplicate.”
Claire considered his apology which didn’t really sound like an apology at all. It sounded forced and nowhere near contrite, given more like he was at the point of a sword. She paused for a moment reflecting on this fact. Her impression was that this encounter was more than a battle of words. It was as if he had declared war on her kind.
But on the rare chance he really was sincere and not being ill-natured about it, she said, “I’m not sure a simple apology will suffice for what−” She paused, noting the tensing of his body, his brows pulled together in an affronted frown.I win this argument, she decided before giving him a brilliant smile. “I’m not hard pressed to continue hostilities, so I accept your apology−in triplicate. This way, doctor.” She turned and led him up the stairs.
Devon barely heard her. He was still attempting to recoup from the staggering effect of the smile she’d just given him. How easily she disarmed him. In pure disgruntlement, he considered the impact she made on him. Devon followed baffled, his mind gone awry, his tongue trussed in knots. She held weapons enough to flay his backside.
Devon shook himself. Following the sway of those hips and soft swish of her skirts in front of him had his mind mesmerized for other things. A rare pleasure that accompanying site. A temporary cease-fire existed between them. He let it go at that, not sure she’d accepted his apology nor sure if he had dropped his idea of revenge.
“How is the patient?” he afforded, attempting to pry his mind from his primitive thoughts. She led him into a bedroom. Devon moved around Claire and knelt next to the older woman asleep on the bed. Pasty, pale, her skin wrinkled like parchment, her hair matted to her head.
Grimy from working in the fields he directed Claire to pour fresh water into a basin. He washed then dried his hands on fresh linen. He ran a hand over Cookie’s brow.
“You can go now. I’ll take care of her.”
“No,” she said. “I’m staying.”
“No wilting flower?” Devon was impressed. He set his bag down and commenced to examine the patient. He took the old woman’s wrist between his thumb and forefinger. “She is quite feverish. How long do you say?” As asked, she answered many of his questions. It was not unusual to greet a foreign malady in this part of the world unknown to him.
“You’ll not bleed her?”
He looked at her, saw the apprehension in those golden eyes. “Of course not.”
She bestowed on him a wavering smile. Her shoulders sunk in relief.
“I see she’s been bled.” He didn’t need her confirmation, he could see the marks. He despised the practice where physicians blooded, vomited, purged, and sacrificed their patients.
“Can you help her?”
